Tempted (17 page)

He stood abruptly.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No,” he said, leaving the room, leaving because it was the very conscience that made him realize he could not leave Mary Callahan to her fate.

He’d come to care for her too much to do that.

Chapter Seventeen

To say Alex was in a foul mood when he arrived at the assembly would be a severe understatement. It was beyond foul. One could say it was quite repugnant. Disgusting, even, for he certainly had a disgust for himself.

It didn’t help matters that the minute he entered the room he could hear murmurings that included the word
Marquis
, though how the local gentry knew who he was when he’d arrived in his cousin’s carriage wearing his cousin’s borrowed black jacket and breeches, he had no idea. But it seemed ironic that when he didn’t want to be recognized, he was, and when he wanted to be recognized, he wasn’t.

The good news was that the room was rather small, the threadbare and scarred furnishings so sparse as to be nonexistent. A number of people stood about, but the size of the room made it easy to see the whole of it, or more specifically the dance floor, at a glance.

And there she was, sitting upon one of the many chairs that lined the wall, his cousin standing over her like a male dog protecting his bitch. And she looked quite splendid. Alex hadn’t been able to bring himself to see her before she left, only now he wished he had. Seeing her earlier might have given him time to prepare. As it was, it caused everything inside of him to collide in a mish-mash of emotions that excited and irritated and flummoxed him all at the same time.

She wore a green gown shot through with gold, her red hair once again dressed in a fashionable style with a green feather sticking out at the back. For half a moment he wondered where Rein had gotten the ball gown, only to catch a glimpse of the front of it, the answer thereby immediately presenting itself: She wore one of his mistress’s castoffs.

Bloody rake. How could he give that to her?

There was a simple answer for that, for Rein was…well, Rein. Nothing was too outrageous for him to do.

And the irony of it all, the thing that made Alex realize how truly naïve she was, was that she likely didn’t realize that the neckline was far too low to be considered proper. That the skirt was cut a tad too close to the hips to be thought acceptable. That the neckline alone would proclaim her a member of the very profession she’d fought so hard to avoid…if she’d been at a proper ball.

But this wasn’t a proper ball. Conversations were too loud. Dancers moved through the steps too exuberantly. The clothes both the gentlemen and ladies wore were of a fashion that proclaimed them to be not quite
à la mode
.

Alex shook his head as he took it all in, though his gaze fell quickly back upon Mary. She looked vexed with Rein, he noted, though what his cousin had done to pique her, Alex had no idea, but it was a pleasure to watch them trade sallies, to observe the way her face mirrored everything she felt. To see how her nose wrinkled whenever she was particularly peeved, the way she rolled her eyes at something ridiculous Rein must have said. She didn’t flirt with his cousin, didn’t invite with her eyes. In fact, she seemed content to insult and trade barbs with him all evening. Alex felt monumentally better.

Someone came up to him, even attempted to converse with him, and Alex sent the man away with a freezing glance. When he looked back into the room, Rein was gone. What the devil?

“Good evening, Alex.”

Alex jerked, abashed that Rein had managed to skulk up to him.

The two engaged in battle waged with their eyes until Rein said, “Are you claiming her, Alex? Is that what you’re doing here?”

“No. I’m protecting her.”

“Hmm. That is a very odd thing for you to want to do.” “Not at all, cousin. Not when you consider how well I know you.”

Rein smiled. “I see,” he said. “I should have known you would never actually state that you want her for yourself. Such a common emotion as desire would be beneath you, wouldn’t it?”

“Leave it, Rein. I’ve no wish to engage in a verbal battle with you.”

“Lust, Alex. That is what you feel. And the sooner you admit it, the better off you’ll be. Frankly, I’m quite relieved to see you succumb to the thing. I’d begun to fear you incapable of the emotion.”

“Do not cast me in the same light as yourself.”

“Oh I’m not, I’m not. For while I would continue to pursue her even after she’d turned me down, you will not.” He turned back to stare into the ballroom. “Such a pity, for she really is exquisite. Alas, I will stay away from her since that seems to be what you wish.” Their gazes met again. “I bid you good eve, dear cousin. Happy hunting.”

And without another word, he bowed, turned and left. Alex stared at the spot he’d been, wondering why he should feel somewhat concerned over Rein’s easy acquiescence. Rein made a hobby out of chasing women; it wasn’t like him to simply bow out of the competition now.

Could it be that his cousin truly thought Alex meant to try and claim her again?

Are you, Alex?

His gaze fell upon Mary. She sat exactly where Rein had left her. Of course, with her feet the way they were, she would likely not want to move. Something caught her eye, though what it was, he didn’t know, but it made her smile slightly. Lord, but there could be no doubt that she was the prettiest woman in the room. In the whole shire, likely. And in addition to that, she had more integrity than half the people in this room.

And he’d asked her to be his mistress.

Odd how he’d never considered doing such a thing an insult before now, but indeed it must have been.

She began to turn, her gaze skimming over the tops of people’s heads, stopping for a moment here, darting around there, until finally, inexorably, it came to rest on him near the door.

She might have gasped, for he saw her mouth open a bit. Then she stiffened, much the way he did, too. The slight smile disappeared, and Alex was sorry for it. She looked away, her cheeks coloring, her hands clenching in her lap. Obviously, she was every bit as piqued to see him as she had been to be with Rein. And he didn’t blame her. Lord, he’d fumbled it with her. Badly. He could admit that now.

He moved toward her, ignoring the people around him. Stepped around a couple so engrossed in each other they didn’t see him approach. Ignored an old matron whose simpering daughter smiled up at him. Neatly avoided a man who tried to stop him with a hand.

He walked up to her, conversation around her dribbling to a stop—more than one person overheard saying the words
heir
and
dukedom.
He stared down at her for long seconds. Then slowly, with great care, he bowed.

“My lady,” he said softly, “would you be so kind as to favor me with a dance?”

She looked up at him and snapped the word, “No.” He straightened, feeling—good lord, of all the unexpected things—the urge to laugh. To smile even. Perhaps it was the saucy way she’d looked at him just before she turned away. Perhaps it was the way she’d shot out her answer like the word was a rock in a slingshot aimed directly at his arse. Perhaps it was because he knew he deserved her pique. Whatever the reason, he suddenly found himself admiring her even more.

“Mary,” he tried again, speaking softly, and for her ears alone. “I am sorry for coming to your room as I did. For demanding you not come with Rein tonight. Sorry for insulting your virtue by asking you to become my—” he lowered his voice, “—mistress.” And she looked up at him in surprise then. “I promise to treat you with the utmost courtesy from now on, if you will but let me.”

She didn’t say anything, which Alex supposed was a good sign, though with Mary one never knew. But then he knew she was still irritated with him because she started to cluck that damnable tongue of hers.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand.

“My feet hurt.”

“Then let me carry you around the dance floor.”

Her gaze darted to his. “Don’t be a fool.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Lord, he loved her frankness.

“Please, Mary. Just one turn. If it hurts too badly, we’ll stop.”

“I’m angry with you, my lord, thus I refuse to dance with you.”

“And I told you I’m sorry. Can you not forgive me?” “No.”

“Come, just one turn.”

“I’d sooner dance with Old Scratch.”

“He’s already left the ball.”

She gave him a look that was an odd mix of confused disdain.

“My cousin. He’s already left.”

To which he saw her lips tighten and then twitch. Ah. Progress.

“Come, Mary. Just one turn. Confess. I know you well enough to know you’re dying for the opportunity.”

The look she gave him was visual snake venom. “You are,” he reiterated.

“I am not.”

“You’ve never wanted to dance? To move in time to the music? To feel, just for one night, like a princess at her first ball?”

How the blazes the marquis knew that, Mary didn’t know, and, oh, how it irked her that he knew…and yet she’d wanted to dance since the moment she’d arrived, the fancy swells bowing and smiling at each other. The music stirred her soul. The soft candlelight warmed her skin. The cool breeze coming from outside energized her spirit. But dancing with him would be like dancing with the enemy.

“You’re a vile beast, do you know that?”

He smiled a bit, obviously sensing victory. And that irked her all the more.

“Dance,” he repeated.

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll ask them to play a waltz. That way I can lead.” She almost said no, even parted her lips a bit to do so. It still stung that he would ask her to be his mistress. And yet, he’d asked for her forgiveness most sincerely. And one thing she knew of Alex, he was always honest.

“One turn,” she found herself saying instead, because devil take it, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, just as he said.

“Just one.”

“And then we leave.”

“If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

“Very well.” He bowed before her again. Mary felt herself straighten. She’d lost her mind for sure. She shouldn’t dance with him, she should give him the cold shoulder. That is what a truly outraged woman would do.

“I’ll be back in a trice,” he said.

She watched him head toward the musicians who sat upon a raised dais at the end of the room.

Go, Mary. Go now.

But a part of her was too greedy to leave. She’d always wanted to dance at a ball. Devil take it, tonight she would.

“We’re in luck,” he said a few moments later. “Apparently this is not as backward a place as I feared.”

As if listening for those very words, the lead violinist plucked the opening chords. Alex held out his hand. She stared at it for a moment.

Don’t, don’t, don’t.

She took it. Lord help her, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

The dress Mary wore, the beautiful gown the earl had brought to her to wear and that had made her gasp at the beauty of it, rustled, the golden threads catching the glow of the candles that hung in wall sconces around the room. Granted, when she curtsied to him, she feared her feet might not last, but Mary didn’t care. This was her one dance. Her one and only chance at feeling, for once, like a lady. Her one chance at seeing what it was like on the other side.

He pulled her to him, and Mary’s heart sped faster, though in anticipation of the dance or at the contact of their bodies, she couldn’t be sure.

“Breathe easy, my lady. I shall not let you stumble.” And for just a moment, just the tiniest fraction of a heartbeat, she really did feel like a lady. Perhaps it was the dress. Perhaps it was the way people stared. But suddenly she felt like the most beautiful, perfect, well-bred lady in the room.

No one else took the floor. Gowns rustled as ladies stepped back, some taking their seats. Candles flickered as a breeze swept through. Men watched from the sidelines.

“Perhaps they don’t know the steps?” Alex conjectured.

Mary doubted it. Rather, she had a feeling they wanted to watch a lord dance with his lady.

His lady.

And, oh, how she wished. Aye, for though he’d insulted her greatly by offering to make her his mistress, though he angered her by ordering her about, Mary couldn’t deny there was a large part of her that wished to be his lady in the truest sense of the word.

Aye, and a daft, silly fool I am for wanting it.

She was. She knew it, but that didn’t make her feel any different. All her life she’d wondered what it’d be like to be on the other side. To be wealthy and pampered and— lord, she couldn’t believe she was admitting this—
loved.
And while she knew his lordship didn’t love her, he had always been kind…always kind. And tonight he’d been man enough to admit he’d been wrong in asking her to become his mistress. She’d never met a man who could admit he was wrong.

So as he lifted her left hand, as he stared down into her starstruck eyes, she allowed herself that fantasy, too. (Why the blazes not? This was her fantasy, after all.) She pretended they were man and wife. That he loved her. That he’d inherited his dukedom. That she was the Duchess of Wainridge. That all the people who looked on were their guests at a party held in her honor. Aye, she’d invited them in celebration of an award she had been given for charity work— No, no. She was trying to open an orphanage and this was a charity event to raise funds. Wait, she hated children. Very well, it was a poorhouse she were wanting to open—